


Not Like We Can

by transmarkcohen



Category: Rent - Larson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 17:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16815574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transmarkcohen/pseuds/transmarkcohen
Summary: One night, the unexpected cliche happens.





	Not Like We Can

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind/gifts).



Both Mark and Roger heard the noise when it came. A flurry of footsteps running up and down the stairs, and then an odd, human-like sound. They looked at each other until finally Mark sighed and opened the door.

He froze. “Roger?” He said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna...I mean...damn. Just come over here.”

“Okay,” said Roger, walking over. “I mean, it can’t be that ba- _holy shit.”_

Outside the door was a small basket, just big enough to hold something that was about seven pounds. Inside the basket, wrapped in a dark green basket, lay a sleeping baby.

“Doorstep baby,” Mark said, wondering aloud. “It’s an actual doorstep baby.”

“Don’t dehumanize the kid, Mark,” Roger immediately corrected. But Mark was right. In front of them was an actual doorstep baby that someone had left in the hopes that someone would take the baby in and care for it.

The two stood in silence for a few minutes until Mark spoke up. “The...baby...is probably hungry,” he said slowly.

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, also slow, still staring at the baby. “We don’t...have any...uh...baby food, though.”

“No, I know how to take care of this,” Mark said, and he reached down and picked the baby up, holding it in his arms and making sure to support the head. He walked slowly with the swaddled up infant back to his room. Roger briefly wondered what he was going to do, then it hit him with an _Oh._ Roger shook the thought away, though, and looked back at the basket.

On the bottom was a sticky note folded in two. The sticky side had been inside the fold. Roger gently unfolded the note and read it.

_Dear residents,_

_I regret having to force this on you. Nobody should be forced to be a parent. But I cannot care for my child. I am weak. I am going to die soon. I hope you will know what to do. I have not named him yet. Feel free._

_Thank you very much,_

_-....._

The name at the bottom wasn’t legible, the sharpie blending together. Someone had been in a hurry to write it. And possibly crying.

“Okay,” Roger said to himself, sticking the note in the pocket of his pajama pants, “Okay. We’ll...figure out something. It’s not like _we_ can actually be parents.” He nervous-laughed to himself. “Ha! I don’t even like Mark.” He took the basket and put it on the coffee table, closing the door of the loft. “But the baby is cute. I think we can take care of it for a little bit. Yeah. Just...a little bit.”


End file.
